


Heartless

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic [64]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Series, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LJ Comment Fic for Theater prompt: <i>Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay (+/ any), how he got his Sears Drama Award.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartless

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** There is a flashback to Rodney's high school play, which alludes to bullying and spousal abuse.

“What’s this?” John held up a video tape, the writing on the label faded almost into oblivion.

Jeannie leaned in close, eyes squinting, and then grinned. “That’s from Mer’s play, the one he did for the drama festival.”

John stared at the cassette intently, as if he’d be able to see the high school version of Rodney on it if he just looked hard enough. “Is this what he won the award for?”

He’d teased Rodney about it, but secretly John had been impressed. Was there nothing that man couldn’t do, if he put the slightest bit of effort into it?

“Sure is.” Jeannie dusted her hands off on her jeans. “Come on. I had all the old tapes put on DVDs years ago. You want to watch it? We could use a break.”

She got to her feet, and gave John a hand up. He’d been helping her clean out the attic while Rodney was doing a guest lecture at the university. John supposed there were worse ways to spend a few days off, and getting the opportunity to see Rodney as a young man was definitely worth the effort of hauling dusty boxes and furniture down the stairs.

Jeannie fixed them big salads for lunch, and then spent a little time hunting through the DVDs to find the right one.

“They didn’t have the Playwriting award back then, but Mer would’ve won it if they had. Our parents were furious when they saw his play. Ah, here it is.” Jeannie popped the disc out of the case and put it in the player. 

“They didn’t support the acting?” John asked. He never asked Rodney questions about his past, not unless Rodney was in a chatty, reflective mood, but he had no problem plying Jeannie for clues about her brother’s formative years.

“Oh, it wasn’t the acting they didn’t like. It was the subject matter.” Jeannie settled next to him on the couch, salad bowl in one hand and remote control in the other. “You’ll love this! It's brilliant!”

**1985**

_Our next entry is an original work titled_ Heartless, _written by M. Rodney McKay._

Rodney’s heart was pounding as he waited for the spotlight to come up. He’d never put so much of himself into a project before. Once this thing got rolling, he’d be exposed in a way he never had been before; it was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. He wished they’d had one more chance to go over the blocking.

And then the moment was on him. The spotlight shone down, illuminating Rodney and part of the baby grand piano he was sitting in front of. He immediately pounded on the keys, starting with a discordant mish-mash and then moving into scales and finger exercises. 

Another light came up, stage right. Carrie, made up to look older, and Finn, standing in front of a cardboard piano.

“I’m sorry, Boy, but you’re just not suited to the piano.”

“But I like it! I want to keep playing!”

They were almost the same height, but Carrie made it seem like she was looking down at him over the tops of her glasses.

“You’re technically skilled, but you have no soul. No heart. You can’t make music without a heart.”

“I can learn!”

“You can’t learn heart, Boy. You either have it or you don’t. And you don’t.”

The light snapped off, leaving most of the stage dark again. Rodney’s fingers moved up and down the keys, picking out the notes of the original composition he wrote to go with the play. It started wistful, and turned angry, clashing.

Carrie was back on stage, her outfit changed but still with the old makeup on. Finn sat at her feet, knees drawn up and looking small. They were joined by Michael, and Rodney bit back a curse when he saw the idiot had gone ahead and glued a fake moustache over his top lip. Rodney had specifically told him not to do that. Upstaging asshole.

“Boy’s teacher said he needs to be in a special school for gifted children,” Carrie said.

Michael stepped forward, glowering. “He’s no better than anyone else. He can stay in public school.”

“But his teacher said –”

“I don’t give a damn about his teacher!” Michael brought a convincing level of anger that would’ve worked better without the quivering moustache. “I went through public school. If it’s good enough for me, it’s good enough for him.”

“Why are you always trying to hold him back?” Carrie asked plaintively. 

Michael raised his hand and she turned her face, shoulders coming up. They froze in that position, and Finn looked out at the audience as the light faded to black.

Rodney’s song turned light, bouncy, complex. He was starting to sweat, from the heat of the light and because he didn’t know how the audience was taking his play. All his classmates were there, and the next scene would definitely give _Heartless_ away as being about Rodney.

Carrie, in regular makeup and a cheerleader uniform, faced off with Finn, who had a fistful of carnations in his hand. To the side was a row of cardboard lockers.

“Of course I’ll go to the dance with you, Boy,” Carrie said, batting her eyelashes. “I’m so glad Jock talked you into asking me.”

Finn thrust the flowers at her, rouge applied with a heavy hand so he looked like he was furiously blushing. Carrie took them, and then puckered up, her lips glossed into a high shine that really gleamed under the lights.

“Kiss me?” she asked.

Finn dutifully closed his eyes, and as soon as he did Michael came around the lockers – thankfully sans moustache - dressed in a letter jacket and holding a live guinea pig. Rodney held his breath. They’d rehearsed this more than anything else.

Just when Finn moved in to kiss Carrie, she backed out of the way and Michael flipped the guinea pig around so that – to the audience, at least – it looked like Finn kissed it square on the ass. Rodney let out a breath. They did it right. No actual butt-kissing took place on stage.

Carrie giggled, Michael laughed, and they swept off into the shadows center stage. Finn looked down at the floor, where the flowers lay discarded, and very deliberately stomped on them. Rodney didn’t think he expressed quite enough humiliation, but he got the rage pretty good.

Rodney banged on the piano keys, the song now loud and forceful and angry, with a faintly tinkling undertone the hopefully spoke of loneliness and unhappiness.

The lights came up one last time, and Finn stood alone on stage.

“I don’t trust you. Why should I? You only laugh at me. I don’t like you. Why should I? You only berate me. I don’t love you. Why should I? You don’t really see me, don’t really know me. I’m technically skilled, but unable to create anything beautiful. Because I haven’t ever known beauty. Haven’t ever felt love. Haven’t ever known kindness.”

Finn looked off towards the back of the auditorium.

“I am heartless.”

The lights went down and Rodney finished playing his song in the dark, the notes sad, and slow, and lingering. When he was finished, Rodney sat back on the piano bench, his chest so tight he could barely breathe. When the audience started to applaud, he thought he was going to be sick. Or worse, cry right there on stage.

But the applause went on and he was able to stand up, and take a bow with his cast.

**2010**

Jeannie shut off the TV. “He never touched the piano again after that.”

John wasn’t sure he could trust himself to speak. He didn’t need to ask to know that _Heartless_ was autobiographical, that Rodney had suffered at the hands of his parents, his teachers, his peers. 

“You okay?” Jeannie asked. She put her hand on John’s arm. “It was a long time ago.”

“He’s not, you know,” John found himself saying. He couldn’t get the image of Rodney banging away angrily on the piano out of his mind. He hadn’t known Rodney was that good, had assumed the piano thing was just kid stuff that never progressed much past the basics.

“Not what?”

“Heartless. He’s got the biggest heart of anyone I know.”

“He always did,” Jeannie said softly. She smiled at John. “He just needed to find the right person to entrust it to.”

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll just take care of the dishes.”

John kept sitting there, staring at the blank TV screen and wishing he could go back in time and throttle anyone who’d treated Rodney badly, who’d made him retreat behind a wall of self-doubt, suspicion, and self-deprecation. If he hadn’t had science to bury himself in, build himself up with, John didn’t know what might’ve happened to him.

When Rodney came back from the university, right before dinner, John intercepted him in the driveway, pushing him back against Jeannie’s Prius and kissing him breathless.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Rodney gasped when they came up for air. “But what’s that for?”

“You know I love you. Right?” John knew he didn’t say the words enough, though they were always there, always in his heart. 

Rodney stared at him, but his mouth curved up into a smile. “I have an inkling.”

“Just checking.”

“You’re weird.” Rodney kissed John, and groped his ass for good measure. “What’s for dinner?”

John let Rodney drag him inside the house, and prepared himself for a lengthy rant on the topic of vegetarian cuisine. But he’d eat whatever Jeannie prepared, because he loved her. Later on he’d make John come so hard he’d see stars, because he loved John, too.

And anyone who thought Rodney was heartless could go straight to hell.


End file.
